The Seventeenth Piece
by Dr. SecretAgentMan
Summary: When Gibbs allows world renowned psychologist Dr. Cynthia Craymer access to MCRT for a full year in exchange for information on a killer they desperately need to stop, he learns just what each member of the team means to him and where they belong in Craymer's twisted game of psychological chess.


**Disclaimer: I do not own NCIS. Like at all. I have nothing to do with it 'cept this fanfiction. And Cynthia.**

 **Author's note:** I have been very, _very_ absent recently. So sorry friends. There have been many circumstances that have contributed to this, and I sincerely apologize that I have not updated any other stories recently. They will be up and running as soon as possible. On a completely separate yet awesome note, here is my first NCIS fanfiction; hope you like! This is a short intro into what I hope to be a long-ish story. (Very descriptive, I know.) I hope Gibbs isn't OOC.

Oh and Cynthia Craymer is mine. The eventual psychological anything she starts to spout is based off a couple of things, but mainly out of my own observations and a couple of odd ideas that seemed to roll together. As far as I know, it has no basis in any real psychological breakthroughs, theories, or otherwise.

 **Aside:** Psychology is actually an awesome profession that I would love to study. However, since this is from Gibbs' perspective, it is not exactly treated in the best light. Please do not take offense.

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"I refuse."

Cynthia Craymer didn't look startled at the stubborn yet sudden anger or at the hard-set of Gibbs' jaw. In fact, she didn't look like she was experiencing much of anything at all. She simply stood there; reddened curls tied back in an immovable bun, staring up at him from her position against the elevator door, with one perfectly manicured eyebrow raised just the slightest. It wouldn't take a profiler to tell she looked completely unfazed.

Under other circumstances, Gibbs would have found that just as attractive as her stock of red hair. Now, that just might be the one thing that pissed him off the most.

"Oh?" Craymer replied.

"Yes; oh." Gibbs snapped back. "There is no way I will allow that."

He was reaching the end of his limit with this lady. He had a case to get back to, a woman to save. They needed hard evidence, details that might lead to where the killer would strike next. They needed more man-power and more sleep and a whole slew of other things, none of which involved this damn shrink and her could be-would be, theories, even if she was world renowned. If she wasn't going to help them catch the bastard they were after, then she could either get out or let him arrest her, or better yet, do both.

Gibbs was in the mood for a good take-down. He wouldn't hold back either. In seconds he could pull out the cuffs, slide her smug face away from that elevator door, lock her up, and when he had found the dirtbag that had murdered those marine wives, throw them in a cell together.

As far as he was concerned, as long as Craymer wasn't telling them how to find the murderer –which was the reason she had called and came down to NCIS in the first place- she and that piece of scum deserved each other. They could rot in jail for all he cared.

Except, Gibbs realized with an angry sigh that vibrated throughout his tense body, he did care. He cared a lot. There was a man out there, murdering wives of marines countries too far away to do anything for their loved ones. And not just for days now; for _weeks_. Same schedule, every Friday, _and they still couldn't find him_. Every woman who had ever set foot on a base; army, navy, or otherwise was terrified. Even worse, there was nothing they could do to stop it. Aside from the obvious wife-of-a-marine, none of the deceased had any connection to each other. These were women of different nationalities, body types, ages, even their lifestyles had all been widely diverse. There was no clue as to where the killer would strike, no clue as to who he was or what he looked like, and no agency in the world had enough manpower to guard every marine household in the state. There were no fingerprints, no loose hairs; the bastard had even used different latex gloves and wipes when cleaning up the bloodstains after he had bludgeoned their heads in so they couldn't analyze the blood splatter.

The worst part was, if the woman had kids, he'd make them _watch_.

The last body they'd discovered, a woman by the name of Bethany Clyde, had had two children, twins, boy and a girl. Tony found them tied them by their wrists to the kitchen table. Peter, the eldest by thirteen minutes, and Jenna, a pigtailed eight year old that reminded him of Abby, stared endlessly at nothing, blood dripping down their fingers from where they had fought desperately to be freed. Ducky deduced their time of death as fifty-or-so minutes before they had gotten there. Both, it seemed, had died of shock. No one could find it in themselves to chastise Tony when he threw up in the bushes on the way out.

Gibbs sighed again, and ran a hand down his face. Craymer had taken it upon herself to turn her gaze back to him during the time he spent reminiscing. Now they met eyes, blue against murky hazel-brown as both awaited the outcome of their battle. For the first time in a long time, he was afraid it was a battle he wouldn't win. The psychologist seemed more aware of this than Gibbs had hoped, and she cracked a small smile at the near-victory.

"Does that 'oh' still apply Agent Gibbs?"

Gibbs slid his eyes shut. He would not bow down to this woman. He would not bow down to this woman. He would not bow- oh, who was he kidding. He was kneeling like a goddamned child at prayer, and she knew this perfectly well.

"My team," He finally mummured. "No harm will come to them?"

Craymer let out a soft laugh that, while melodic, had a rough edge to it that sent ice pooling in his gut. He always trusted his gut. His _team_ trusted his gut. How was he supposed to tell them he ignored it?

"As I told you earlier, it's merely a psychological observation, Agent. I assure you that nothing I do will put any undo strain on you or your team." She cocked her head, as if thinking, before continuing on with her assurances. "Granted, I will watch closely, and I may suggest certain activities to you, but whether or not you decide to assign them to your agents is completely up to you."

"I will not do anything that could hurt them, physically or otherwise."

"Now, now Agent Gibbs." Craymer drawled. "Why would I suggest anything like that? After all, to have such willing subjects is a rare and momentous occasion! What a waste it would be if I didn't prolong our involvement for as much time as I possibly could. Besides, I am just here to observe after all; what harm could _I_ do to three, very competent _very special_ agents?"

Gibbs winced at Craymer's obvious jab at DiNozzo's usual joke –and in fear at the fact that though she had never met DiNozzo, she knew of his saying- as his mind slid back to those three very agents. There was no doubt that they were still crowded around their desks, just waiting for the slightest break in the case so they could finally get some leeway on the madman who had been working them relentlessly for nearly three weeks. He thought of Tony, who carried the Clyde children's bodies out to the ambulance himself in refusal to separate the twins' still intertwined hands, and the stark white bandages curled around the same man's fingers, where the SFA had sat them under nearly burning water to erase the feeling of a dead child on his skin. He thought of McGee who had been battling the effects of the flu for over week now, but who still came into the bullpen day after day, fever burning behind his eyes and trembling wracking his body, as his typing intermingled with savage, draining coughs. He thought of Ziva, who had placed her Star of David necklace, her most prized possession, over the neck of a boy whose mother they found dead weeks ago, and told him to call her anytime if he needed to talk. He remembered it all and nearly wept because even if it was for the greater good, he was choosing some woman, some random other woman, over the potential safety of these – _his_ \- wonderful kids.

Craymer notes the almost wetness around his eyes, seemed to take pride in this fact, and like a predator, cornered him to force the deal.

"You never answered my question, Agent Gibbs. Your team will stay relatively safe, so does your little 'no' still apply?"

Gibbs let out a low growl, and then, reluctantly shook his head. There was no reason to drag this on any longer than it had already been. He had been beaten long ago, long before even the first girl had been murdered. There was nothing that could stop the pangs of empathy that rose within his gut at the sight of Bethany Clyde's husband, whose mouth had moved in the same fashions that his had when he had found out Shannon and Kelly were dead. Opened and closed, like a fish. As far as he knew, the man said the exact _words_ Gibbs had said when he found out they were dead.

'No, no, nonononono. Not them. Not them, not them, not them.' Over and over like a record player. 'Not them. _Not them_.'

Those words had made him a slave to this case, and not even Clyde's, but his own. Now, he would do anything to see it solved and then absolved from his memory, but, Gibbs wondered, what would be the cost? Would it be worth it to lose the family he had now to resolve memories of the last?

His gut answered both of these questions with a twist, as Craymer pulled out a notebook from her purse, scribbled something across the top, tore out the front page, and pressed it into his palm.

"These are the names of the girls whose houses he is most likely to strike tonight. Get your techie, the one who coughs like a chainsmoker not the other one, and have him look them up. They should be easy enough to find. You'll get your man, Agent Gibbs, and I will see you tomorrow."

With a flick of the button the elevator started up again, sounding just like the metal coffin Tony had always claimed it was. The sounds of the squealing lift mixed with the sounds of Craymer' humming as she slid the notebook into her bag, and removed her weight off of the metal doors and onto her designer heels. The door slid open seconds after, and just like that, the woman who had just been the cause of so much grief was gone without so much as a backwards glance. She sauntered off, skirt swooshing in time with her steps, but she made sure to turn the slightest bit, just before she hit the exit doors. Purposefully it seemed, she made sure the last thing Gibbs saw of her was her widening smile, curved and full of teeth; like a wolf's.

And maybe, just maybe, that was what she truly was. A wolf waiting at the opening of their nice little burrow, watching her prey huddle together in perpetual safety, holding out for the best moment to strike, a moment Gibbs had just handed to her on a silver platter.

The ice in Gibbs' gut turned to stone and he hoped, for all their sakes, that she was not one to play with her food before swallowing it.

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Hope you enjoyed!

If you liked something, disliked something, or just want to comment be sure to send me a review. As always, have a nice rest of your day my lovelies! I'll answer anything either by PM or respond to it in the next chapter of this story. I'd like to hear your opinions!

See you later!


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